"Sometimes," said the little girl, reluc- n't know it. I'm sure I've been told of it tantly. "And what did she do then?" "How many times did she talk to them ?" I said, thinking of the seventy times sevén. "I don't know," said she. "Now children," said I, "Peter is a new boy in this school, this is the first time he has disobeyed me. Shall I whip him or talk to him till he is sorry? Those who think I had better whip him may hold up their hands." No hands went up save the grimy member of a sturdy rogue in the corner. But when I said, "All who think I had better talk to him, hold up their hands," all hands went up. So I took Peter and "talked to him," but I haven't implicit confidence that he will "never do so again." I tell you all this, for I want you to see that I try and walk in the footsteps of my illustrious predecessor. The "Committee Men" came into school the other day. They heard the first class read, asked some questions in geography and arithmetic, which, thanks to your training, were all answered correctly, looked at the writing books, expressed themselves well pleased, addressed the school and departed. All the scholars stood up most respectfully when they passed out, with the exception of the boy with the grimy hand, who persistently kept his seat unawed and unmoved by the dignitaries. I took no notice of him, but I am a little suspicious that urchin and myself will yet have an account to settle. How O, I thought last Sunday when Tom Hughes with his bass viol started "From Greenland's icy mountains," I wished I was with you in that old stone church with the "light from pictured windows stealing." Dear me! you will look out for a situation for me somewhere near the Common. would it do to buy out an apple-woman, or a peanut stand? I'm dying to know where you are going next Sunday. Now, if I were you, when I go to such aristocratic churches I would wear my best dress, so I could make a rustle too. Who will know it's the only one you've got? I said this to Aunt Judith and she only laughed and said you were more sensible that I, as if I did enough. I think Aunt Judith has had her little romance some time or other, and I wish you would get around Miss Anne and find out about it. And Miss Anne, too,-do you suppose a woman like her, rich, talented, no, cultivated, that's the word, moving in the best society, has arrived to years of discretion and not experienced the tender passion? Do find out these things and write all about them, for I've almost read through the circulating library of this place and am longing for a new sensation. As to Laura Brown, I went over to the Spicers the other day and they told me she lived on S, St., No. 6. That was her father you saw with her; they are all coming up here next summer. Bell Spicer is curious to know why I made inquiries about her. I suspect she thought you were going to presume on your introduction to call upon her. I think Bell Spicer is in danger of a fall, if there is any truth in the Book of Proverbs. There is one thing Aunt Judith is worried about, you have such an inquiring mind she fears you may get carried away by some of the Boston radicalisms, especially as of late they seem to attack the higher classes of society. Formerly they raged mostly among a certain set, but now even your locality is not free of them. Now don't go to leaving the faith of your fathers and worshipping strange gods, and don't be run away with by labor movements and woman's suffrage; keep in your sphere. The Boston papers that you send us teem with notices of meetings of this kind. If you should happen to go to any of them, write me all about them, won't you? What you told me in confidence about homesickness, I have said nothing about, neither am I going to "let on " about the vacant chair by the window, nor the empty nails in the closet, nor your side of the bed, which is not always vacant, being occupied by the numerous juvenile visitors who are always coming to this house, which sometimes might fitly be called the Home for little Wanderers. Sister Sarah has been here with Tiny and Tudy who had to take turns sleeping with me, but in some way, by some strange alternation, the "turns often came together. Sunday is a hard day to get over when your heart is sort of lead-like in your bosom. And Tom Hughes' and Selina Dean's music failed to charm away the "leadiness," and after meeting when there was no one to go down the lane with me, or under the apple tree where we read Charley Lamb together, I was just ready to cry. Then I thought how foolish it would be and not make it any better, so I just turned and went into mother's room, for I knew she was feeling badly too. She was sitting by the window with the Bible in her hand and her fingers between the leaves. I sat down and took the book and read aloud at the open place, this psalm. "He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High, shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty." I couldn't have found a better psalm, could I? And then we had a good long talk about you and about our plans,-every family has plans I suppose, more or less, and so I think we comforted each other and made ourselves ready to begin the next week's work. And this is all I have to say to you now, and God bless you. HANNAH W. N. T. Munroe. The Legends of the Cloister. he passion for exploring, for delving of the convent grew into shape among the Τ Tamong the rubbish and ruins of the past, in order to bring to light the thousand treasures which have for ages been buried in darkness, seems to be one of the strong passions of the century. All over the world, relics of dead nations are being exhumed, and their hieroglyphics deciphered. While one class of antiquarians is unearthing buried cities, another class is performing the same service for buried literature. Within the last few years innumerable legends which the Middle Ages carefully stored away in the shadows of their monasteries have been brought forth, and made a subject of careful and laborious study. The results of this study are often curious enough. In tracing back the legends to their source, a strange mixture of Christian mysticism and pagan mythology is generally found as their basis. A recent writer declares that in a very large proportion of the Catholic legends he has examined, it is not difficult to detect undeniable traces of both classic lore and Scandinavian mythology; while many a saint, to whom devout adoration is stiil paid by the papal church, is found to be little else than a Greek divinity, or northern demigod. How these suspicious personages first found their way into the church calendar it might not be very difficult to show, though it is enough for my present purpose that they are undeniably there. common people, who, just emerging as they were from paganism, and being ignorant and unlettered, naturally mixed sadly the new religion and the old. Printing was not invented for ages after many of these legends came into being, so they passed from mouth to mouth and from generation to generation, with ever new and wonderful variations. To satisfy the natural love of the mysterious they brought in the supernatural,—the angels of Christianity, and the demons of paganism, playing their equal rôle in the world of legendary lore. As Christianity spread among the nations, the mythology of the heathen was nominally banished, but its machinery had become too thoroughly entangled with that of the new religion to be easily gotten rid of. Of this difficulty we see the proofs even in our own day and among Protestant sects. Many of the more repulsive dogmas of the church, which are fortunately now fast disappearing, show clearly their heathen relationship and may be distinctly traced back to their parentage. While this is true in relation to the Protestant church, it is safe to conclude that nine tenths of the ancient Catholic legends embrace more or less paganism. We are, however, not to conclude that the monks who greedily received and preserved their semi-heathen myths were dishonest. It is difficult to believe, on the contrary, that they did not give them full Of course with few exceptions the legends credence. Many of the monks were learned; in fact their class monopolized for centuries nearly all the learning in the world, and for much that we possess that is most valuable in ancient letters, we are indebted to them. The convent was a sanctuary, safe when every other place was unsafe, and a storehouse that for twenty centuries has kept well what was confided to its charge. The monk, especially of the early days of Christianity, was essentially superstitious and fanatical. His life was spent in solitude, in the hut of the desert, or the gloom of the cloister, but, whether here or there, it was one long series of prayers and penences, often of the most cruel characterthe haircloth shirt, the sharpened nails that constantly pierced his flesh, these were the mildest of them-and all were alike, weakening to body and mind. His thoughts tended always to the marvellous and supernatural. Phenomena recognized in our day as due to natural causes, were to him, indications of angelic or demoniac interference, and stamped with ever deepening impress the superstitious bias of his mind, It is only just to believe, therefore, that his faith in the quaint, and often childish legends which he spent his life in recording, and which the present generation is exhuming from the darkness of the old monasteries of Europe, was profound and unquestioning. Whether the crusade now being waged in Germany and other countries against the Jesuits and papal infallibility, has given an impetus to the work, is not certain, but within the past year a number of books on this convent and its legends have appeared almost simultaneously, in different parts of Europe. During this time, a learned professor in Utrecht, M. Brill, has published a new and critical edition of the history of St. Brandanus, in Old Flemish, while M. Schroeder has issued a Latin version of the same history, and three others in different German dialects, so that if Europe is not well posted on the subject of this illustrious saint it will not be the fault of the publishers. Now lest any of my readers should be so unfortunate as to be ignorant of the name and fame of this saint, I would state for their information, that St. Brandanus was an Irish monk who, in some unknown age, and in some vanished Isle, lived and wrought in all the sanctity of mystic holiness. This seems a little vague at first glance, but to show how fully the good saint was believed in, it is recorded that when Portugal abandoned the Canary Islands to the kingdom of Castile, she inIcluded also the cession of "the Isle of St. Brandanus in case it should be found again." If any one should regard this clause of the treaty as a small specimen of fine irony, I beg that he will believe it was sober earnest. M. Schroeder, besides his four versions of the "History of St. Brandanus" has within the year, also published a new legend of the true cross, and an ancient poetic version of the history of Esther, while another writer, M. Rochholz, engaged in the study of comparative mythology, has cruelly made sad work of many of the saints. The most elaborate and interesting labor of the sort however, was undertaken sixteen years ago by the Zurich poet, Godfrey Keller. It was a search among the convents of Germany for new legends "whereon to embroider the tracery of modern language." During all these years he has been indefatigably engaged in this labor, plunging into the dusty alcoves and cells where the old monks had stored their long forgotten manuscripts, and dragging them to the light of day. The first result of his labors is a volume entitled "Seven Legends, by Godfrey Keller." It is written with care and much labor, and shows evidences of great learning, as well as a supreme love for his work. I am more than halt inclined to fear, however, that, were the old monks to rise from their mouldy, beds beneath their crumbling convents, they might frown a little at the vein of comic humor which in the author's "embroidery of modern language” he has woven into their holy legends. As a specimen of these "Seven Legends" I give a condensed version of the first, prevising that at its outset, it might seem intended as a saucy hit at some of our modern hobbies, did not its ancient origin preclude that idea. It is the story of a monk of the first century, known as "Brother Eugenius." *Sieben Legenden, von Gottfr. Keller.-Stuttgart, Göschen, 1873. "When women," sententiously remarks the author, "renouncing the desire for beauty and grace, aspire after other quali ties, it sometimes happens that instead of apparel suited to their own sex, they assume one more allied to that of the other, and go abroad tricked out in a conspicuous and unbecoming fashion. The mania for travesties of this sort is by no means peculiar to the present age. It appeared long ago in the bosom of the legendary world of the first Christians, and more than one saint of those days suffered from the infringement of wholesome rules and cus toms. A young and pretty Roman girl named Eugenia, once found herself, as has happened to others, in very embarrassing circumstances, from an escapade of this kind, and in order to extricate herself, was in the end forced to appeal to the rights of her sex Eugenia was the daughter of a noble Roman living with his family in Alexandria, which was then the great resort of philosophers and learned men of all sorts. She received a very careful education; and so well did she profit by her opportunities that before she had attained the age of womanhood, she was met in all the schools of the scoliasts and rhetoricians, whither she went always accompanied by two heathen boys, sons of two of her father's freedmen. They were of her own age, had been brought up with her, dressed like the Roman youth in a toga, and still remained the companions of her studies. Meanwhile Eugenia herself had become the most beautiful girl in Alexandria, while her two companions, both of whom were named Hyacinth, grew and continued to grow, until beside them their charming mistress shone like a lovely rose. Whereever she went, there also went the two Hyacinths, hovering on each side of her, or falling a step or two in the rear, listening reverentially to her learned discussions. Never strong-minded young girl had bettertrained audience; they were always of her opinion, and always fall a little short of her in their knowledge, so that on all occasions she was sure of the last word, and had no need to fear that her companions would speak better than herself. Of course she VOL LI. 7 was admired and flattered. All the poetasters of Alexandria composed sonnets and eulogies in honor of the young muse, which the good Hyacinths took it upon themselves to copy upon golden tablets, and carry behind their mistress. So from day to day, and from year to year, Eugenia grew in beauty and in wisdom. She was still deep in the mysteries of the neoplatonic labyrinths, when one day the young pro-consul, Aquilinus, who had long been enamored of her, came to demand her hand in marriage. Now Eugenia's father was penetrated with so profound a respect for his daughter, that, notwithstanding the rights given him by the Roman law, he dared not himself accept the proposition. He therefore referred the intendant to the sovran decision of the young lady herself, hoping she might accept him, as no young man appeared to him so worthy to be his son-in-law as Aquilinus. As for Eugenia, she had not been blind. She had long since remarked Aquilinus, for he was not only the handsomest, most distinguished young nobleman in Alexandria, but well-known, also, as a man of rare intelligence and goodness. Nevertheless, she received the enamored pro-consul with calm dignity, surrounded by her rolls of parchment, and the two Hyacinths standing behind her chair. One of these was attired in sky blue, the other in rose-color, while Eugenia herself was robed in snowy white. A stranger would have been puzzled to determine whether he had before him three beautiful and graceful boys, or three fresh young girls. It was before this tribunal that the manly Aquilinus, gravely draped in his toga, presented himself. It would certainly have been easier for him to declare himself, and open his heart to Eugenia unembarrassed by the presence of these two odd-looking striplings, but seeing that she did not offer to send them away, he seated himself before her, and overcoming his embarrassment, in a few brief, manly words offered her his hand. Eugenia listened, a scarcely perceptible smile curling her sweet lips. She did not even blush, so thoroughly had science and learning overmastered in her all the delicate weaknesses of the female nature. Assuming a serious air, she replied in the following terms. "Your desire to make me your wife, Aquilinus, honors and flatters me. But your wife should not lack wisdom, as I certainly should, were I to accept you in the first unreflecting moment, and without knowing you. Moreover, were I to marry, I should wish my husband to comprehend my spiritual nature, that he should be able to respect my high aspirations, and in a a measure share them. You will be welcome, then, if you will consent to share my studies, and io accompany me in my search after sublime truths, as my good comrades here have done. In this way we shall by degrees discover whether we are made for one another, and after a time passed in these mutual efforts, shall be able to judge what is best for two creatures whom God desires should walk in the light and not in darkness." To this haughty and pretentious answer, Aquilinus, repressing a secret movement of anger, responded with proud calmness, "If I did not know you, Eugenia, I should not have presented myself to demand your hand. As to myself, I am wellknown to all Rome, as well as to this province. If your science is not yet of a sufficiently high character to enable you to judge at once what I am, and what I am worth, I think it never will be. Furthermore I did not come here to go to school, I came to seek a wife. And as to these two boys, if you grant me your hand, I shall begin by proposing to you to send them home to their parents, where they can learn to help and be useful to them. Pardon me now, if I beg you to answer me not as a sage, but as a woman of flesh and blood." As the fair philosopher listened to this address, she could not help blushing deeply, and her heart beat violently as she replied, "My answer is ready, since your words prove to me, Aquilinus, that you do not love me. This fact would scarcely trouble me, it it were not an insult to the daughter of a noble Roman to be obliged to listen to a falsehood." "I never utter a falsehood," said Aquilinius coldly. “Adieu, madame." Eugenia turned away without returning his parting salutation. The consul quitted the house with lingering steps, and returned home. When the door closed behind him, Eugenia tried to resume her studies, as if nothing had happened, but the letters danced before her eyes, and she was obliged to call upon the Hyacinths to read aloud to her, while her heart was beating, and her thoughts were elsewhere. If hitherto, Aquilinus had been the only man in the world she deemed worthy of her hand, in case she desired to marry, she would never marry him now. The consul on his part, continue to attend to his affairs, every day secretly anathematizing his folly, which would not permit him to forget the beautiful pedant. After this, more than two years went by, Eugenia becoming the object of more and more attention, until she was one of the most noted personages in Alexandria. The two Hyacinths were looked upon as only two awkward boys, with a strong down on their chins. There were not wanting in the city many who began to be scandalized by these strange associates, and satirical epigrams were not unfrequently the accompaniments of the eulogistic stanzas addressed to Eugenia. Notwithstanding this suggestive state of things, the latter could not bring herself to dismiss her guard of honor. In her secret Leart she could not endure the thought of gratifying Aquilinus. Was he not watching her, the impertinent fellow, who had dared to hint that he would separate her from them? On his part, Aquilinus went on as he had always done, seeming quite to have forgotten Eugenia. Yet never were his eyes attaacted to any other woman, and the subject of marriage was no more mentioned by him. He blamed himself, and others blamed him for this. A man in his position was under certain obligations to marry. He owed it to the State. He had no right to remain a bachelor. Nothing of this escaped the knowledge |